Jagged Hearts
by bactaqueen
Summary: Roughly twenty years after their first kiss on Borleias, Jag Fel and Jaina Solo meet again. The years have not been kind-the loss of their only daughter drove them apart more than thirteen years ago-and only a band of pirates has brought them together.


**Title**: Jagged Hearts  
><strong>Author<strong>: bactaqueen  
><strong>Author's e-mail<strong>:  
><strong>Category<strong>: Post-New Jedi Order, Alternate Universe  
><strong>Keywords<strong>: Jag Fel, Jaina Solo  
><strong>Rating<strong>: PG-13  
><strong>Spoilers<strong>: New Jedi Order  
><strong>Summary<strong>: Roughly twenty years after their first kiss on Borleias, Jag Fel and Jaina Solo meet again. The years have not been kind-the loss of their only daughter drove them apart more than thirteen years ago-and only a band of pirates has brought them together.  
><strong>Disclaimer<strong>: All characters copyright their respective owners. "Star Wars" copyright George Lucas. No profit is being made, no infringement intended.

"_**Jagged Hearts"**_

The shadows slide and pool around us, and she's standing there looking more innocent than I've seen her since before her brother died. The years have been good to her-the years were good to her mother, too. Her hair is longer than it used to be, thicker. I remember running my hands through that hair when she used to let me. A touch of gray graces her temples, and I think for a moment that she's too young for that.

Then I do the math, and I realize just how long it's been since I've seen her. How long it's been since Cherith died. How long it's been since Ithor. Too long. After everything, didn't we deserve to be happy?

I let my gaze travel from her face, away from those brandy-brown eyes that are so familiar to me. There are things I haven't seen in those eyes in too long, things that I miss. She's gained weight, but I can't say that I'm unhappy about that. For so long after we lost Cherith she was too thin. I couldn't get her to eat, her mother couldn't get her to eat. I worried for her; I'd already lost my daughter, I didn't want to lose her, too. She never quite understood that, I think.

The comfortable old brown flight jacket is one her father gave her a long time ago. To be honest, I'm not sure he ever actually gave it to her. Beneath it, the short, sleeveless white tunic fits her well. It's tucked in at the waist of the soft brown trousers. The blaster is holstered low on her thigh, and her lightsaber dangles from a loop on her belt. Her boots are brown, too, mid-calf high and scuffed. She probably needs to go shoe shopping.

I let a small smile curve my lips as I realize that she's taking her time to size me up, too. Gods, I've missed her.

"I like the goatee," she says at last, and tosses her hair back over her shoulder. "What made you decide on facial hair?"

I answer as she shrugs out of her jacket. "They kept mistaking me for my nephew."

She smiles wryly and shakes her head. "Good to know your ego's still intact. Even if your piloting skills aren't."

I frown at that. "Some of us are responsible," I tell her, putting too much gravity in my voice so she knows I'm kidding. "Not all of us spend our days gallivanting around the galaxy in an antique. Some of us are respectable."

"Yeah, between you and that princely brother of mine, I'm looking like a regular misfit."

I smile at her grumbled words. "And how is the royal family?"

"Royally perfect. Teneniel just built her first lightsaber."

"I'm glad," I say. "Tell your brother I'm still waiting for the diplomatic visit."

"I will," she assures me. I watch her as she looks around, taking in the general's living room, and I finally decide to begin the line of questioning that will give me the answers I want.

"How's Zekk?" I ask quietly.

There were rumors coming through the channels that she and Zekk had finally declared themselves an item. I didn't want to believe it. I still don't.

She makes a face. "Married," she says. "He and Danni finally hooked up. Took them long enough."

I let out the breath I've been holding, and too late, I realize that I'm broadcasting my relief. Her face softens, and her eyes shimmer.

"There isn't anyone else, Jag," she says. "There never has been. There never will be. Ever." Her voice is quiet, sad, almost regretful.

"Are you ever going to come back to me, Jaina?"

She drops her eyes. "I'm just going to hurt you again," she whispers. "I can't stand seeing you hurt."

"Is that why you ran off last time? Why it's taken pirates to bring you back to see me?" I'm demanding now, dismayed to note that I'm shaking.

"The memories are too painful, Jag." She hugs herself. For protection or warmth, I'm not sure.

I let the silence fall between us. The sounds of the storm raging outside are the only sounds that fill the air for several long moments. Then I take a few deliberate steps forward.

"Which memories?" I question, voice low. "The ones from the times you've left me alone in one bed or another? The memories of Cherith? Or maybe the ones from Hapes? They all hurt, Jaina. They hurt so vaping bad. But that doesn't change what I feel, what you feel, what we have. You don't have to suffer alone."

She looks back up at me now, tears in her eyes and on her face. Her lips quiver, but she doesn't sob. She never sobs.

"Do you realize what could have been, Jag?" she demands softly. "Do you realize that we could have been happy?"

"We still can be," I offer, but she ignores me.

"I do. I can tell you where it went wrong, too. It went wrong on Sernpidal, when Chewie died. It went wrong when the Vong left their galaxy." Her eyes flash, and she's angry.

For several moments, I don't answer. My eyes drift to the glowing chrono on the synth unit, and my brain does the work to find out the date and the time. I'm not ignoring her-I'm giving myself time to figure out what to say.

"We'd have never met if it hadn't been for the war," I point out.

She throws up her hands, then flops onto the low couch. I remain standing.

"That's my point." I resist the urge to wince, but she doesn't notice. She used to notice. She used to know things about me that I barely acknowledged to myself. She presses on, undaunted. "Chewie would be alive. Anakin would be alive. Millions of others would be alive. You'd be here, happy, not thinking about me. You'd have never even met me. I wouldn't have lost Cherith," she murmurs.

I swallow hard, and finally realize what day it is. "Jaina," I whisper, and move to her. I sink to the couch beside her and gather her into my arms. "Jaina," I whisper again, into her hair this time, and I feel her head on my chest. Her tears begin to soak through my tunic. "I miss her, too."

"She'd have been fifteen, Jag," she murmurs. "Fifteen. Today. I think about her every day. I think about who she'd be, what she'd look like. But she doesn't get the chance, and neither do I." She draws a shaky breath. "The pain hasn't gone away. I can't let go of my daughter, Jag. I don't know how."

"You let go of Anakin," I remind her gently, forcing down my own tears. I need to be strong for her.

"Jacen helped me."

"So you let go of him together," I muse. She nods again me, and I finally feel her relax a little in my arms.

"I can't explain it. He was holding us both back, and we knew it. We saw him, and we let him go."

"Find Cherith," I murmur.

"I can't. I don't want to let her go, Jag. She's the last part of us left."

That breaks my heart, but I can't tell her that. So I remind her, "I'm still here for you, Jaina. I've never gone anywhere."

"Have you let her go?"

No man ever truly lets his daughter go. I close my eyes against the darkness of the room, and I see in my mind's eye the image of a brown-haired, green-eyed little girl. It's the image of her I've kept all these years, to keep alive in my mind some part of what Jaina and I used to be.

"No," I breathe. Jaina clutches tighter at me.

"Why not?"

"Because I haven't had you since before she died, Jaina. Because she's all that's left of what we used to be."

We sit here in silence for many long minutes. The storm outside has died down; the wind is only moaning now, not howling, and the rain is less violent.

At length, she ventures a comment. "I miss you, Jag."

"I miss you, too," I whisper.

"It hurts."

I nod. "I know."

After a pause, she adds, "You never left."

"I told you I wasn't going anywhere."

"Do you ever think about her?" Her voice is barely a breath.

"All the time."

"We need to let her go."

I nod again, unable to form the words that will agree with the woman who should have been my wife. The woman I've never stopped loving. I nod once more, and hold her tighter. I push away that image of the little girl. I tell her she's free. And I realize that I've been holding her prisoner all these years. I hear the faint sound of a child's laughter, and Jaina gasps against my chest. Then a sweet voice in my ear murmurs, "Goodbye, Daddy."

And when Jaina collapses in my arms, no longer able to support herself, I find that she isn't the only one in tears. I tuck a finger under her chin and tip her face up.

"She's let go of us, too," I whisper.

"I'm going to miss her," she whispers back.

"I'm here." For the first time in years, I kiss her. "I'm here."

"I need you, Jag."


End file.
